


Teamwork

by rent_a_gundam, rubyofkukundu



Series: Rent-a-Gundam [40]
Category: Gundam & Related Fandoms, Gundam 00
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Humor, M/M, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-13
Updated: 2009-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-27 02:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rent_a_gundam/pseuds/rent_a_gundam, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyofkukundu/pseuds/rubyofkukundu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick and Graham meet in flight-school. And so begins a wonderful rivalry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teamwork

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the sprawling Rent-a-Gundam series: a university/rent-boy!AU that was co-written by Veda, Auto, Orange and Typo.
> 
> Only a portion of the RAG fics have been posted on AO3. For all other fics in the series, check out the Rent-a-Gundam journal: <http://rent-a-gundam.livejournal.com>
> 
> ***
> 
> This particular story was written by Veda (rubyofkukundu) and Typo.
> 
> Originally posted here: <http://rent-a-gundam.livejournal.com/56359.html>

The fact that Patrick ends up being just a tiny bit late to his first day at work is not his fault. He'd had to make an unavoidable detour on his way, after all. Stupid wasps. At any rate, given that Patrick is a genius and intends to be Director of Everything within five years, he's sure they can forgive a tiny bit of lateness.  
  
The receptionist is on the phone when he approaches, and holds up his hand to get Patrick to wait, as if he doesn't know who Patrick is. Probably a temp or something. Patrick passes the time by imagining the way this would be described in his future biography, presumably using the words _youngest and also most handsome stunt pilot A-LAWS was ever fortunate enough to recruit_.  
  
Finally, the receptionist stops yapping down the phone about whatever un-Patrick-related and therefore unimportant business he's been engaged in, and manages to focus. "You one of the new kids?" he asks, and before Patrick can take proper umbrage at being lumped in as merely part of some group and not treated as the unique individual all his report cards describe him as, hands over a folder. "Up the stairs, first floor, second door on the right."  
  
Patrick stares at the folder. _New Starter Pack_. Pretty uninspiring really; there's not even a picture of a plane on the cover! He looks back to the receptionist, but he's ignoring Patrick again. Idiot. So, without further ado, Patrick turns on his heel and walks up the stairs.  
  
What greets Patrick, as he pushes open the door with a piece of paper saying 'Induction' taped to it, is a room full of fresh-faced young men and women (probably lesbians) in crisp, new uniforms (although none of them are as crisp, new or elegantly worn as Patrick's, of course).  
  
Frustratingly, the low murmur of conversation that is hanging in the air does not stop when Patrick opens the door. Or when he walks inside. Or when he coughs loudly. Obviously these people (thick as two short planks, clearly) do not yet realise that they are standing in front of the most competent pilot that this organisation has ever seen!  
  
Patrick graduated from flight school, as these people will soon be informed no doubt, with top marks. Exceptional marks! He did so well that he graduated a year early. And, Patrick has done his homework, at only 17 years old, he is the youngest pilot ever to be employed by the A-LAWS. Ever!  
  
What these people don't realise, yet, is that they are standing in the same room as a _legend in the making_.  
  
After five minutes or so of milling around and _God, this is boring! Boring! Boring!_ They are all told to take their seats. At which point, some bald guy in a suit arrives.  
  
Mr Baldy proceeds to give a long and rambling speech. Something about _what an honour it is to work here_ , blah blah blah _only the best pilots from around the world_ , yadda yadda _the sky's the limit_ , whatever, Mr Baldy, get on with it.  
  
And then, just as Patrick is busy looking out of the window, Mr Baldy says...  
  
"This year, we are especially pleased to have a very promising young pilot amongst our ranks."  
  
Patrick snaps back to attention.  
  
"It is wonderful to see such talent emerging."  
  
Patrick grins.  
  
"He's the youngest graduate that we have ever taken on here."  
  
Patrick can feel his chest swelling with pride.  
  
"And I would like you all to give a very warm welcome to..."  
  
Patrick almost can't take it. He's going to hyperventilate! He's going to burst! He's going to...!  
  
"Graham Acre!" There follows a round of applause.  
  
...What?  
  
"At only 16 years old, his achievement really is exceptional. Stand up Graham!"  
  
Patrick watches, flabbergasted, as a young-faced, scruffy-haired boy stands up in the front row.  
  
...Well _shit_.

***  
  
Graham is just a tiny bit disappointed that he doesn't get to swear a blood oath of loyalty, and even though he's in the smallest size uniform the trousers are still a bit long yet, but these are minor twists in the path of Fortune.  
  
Besides, Billy likes the uniform.  
  
There is some understandable discontent among the ranks at his youth; Graham strives to prove himself to these, his future comrades in arms, even if _in arms_ is not quite right. The aircraft weaponry has been decommissioned for the well-being of civilian onlookers.  
  
All the same, he turns up an hour early every day; Billy goes into university early as well, so it is not a great hardship. In addition, if he comes early he often has a chance to see, and even speak to, the man who is (even if he doesn't know it yet) his great rival and future boon companion.  
  
Mostly, Howard Mason just calls him 'kid' and ruffles his hair, but he is also a Fount Of Great Knowledge, if Graham asks his questions carefully. This fine morning, he looks up when Graham enters and grins. "Hey, kid. Big training exercise today-- you have any preference to who you get teamed up with?"  
  
Graham shakes his head. "I would be honoured to join forces with any of my comrades!"  
  
"Be careful what you wish for," Howard Mason mutters, and makes a note. "What is it you said yesterday? All trials are but waymarkers on the road to victory?"  
  
Howard Mason _remembered_. Graham beams. "Indeed!"  
  
"Well, good luck for today," Howard says, shaking his head, and then sends Graham off to fetch him some coffee. Graham gets himself an apple at the same time, and then Howard lets him look at the lists of who has been paired up with who.  
  
Indeed, Howard Mason is wise. Graham does not yet know Patrick very well, but he is sure they share the power of Invigorating Youth and will therefore be well partnered. He doesn't let the fact that when Patrick sees the list the first thing he says is "What do you mean, I have to go with him?" deter him.

***  
  
 _This_ , thinks Patrick, is fucking excruciating. Seriously, who thought this training exercise would be a good idea?  
  
'Oh yeah, we'll pair them up because heaven forbid they should already know how to fly a plane on their _own_.' (and, for the record, Patrick _does_ know how to fly a plane on his own. He's passed countless simulations with flying colours.) 'And lets make sure Patrick gets paired up with _Graham Fucking Acre_ because Patrick's far too healthy, so we need to make sure that he suffers a heart attack before he's 18.'  
  
Knob-jockeys, the lot of them.  
  
And it wouldn't be so bad. It wouldn't be so horrifically, terribly bad, if Patrick was allowed to do any of the flying. But no, they were given strict instructions to fly half of the course each, and Graham, somehow, managed to get first go.  
  
So poor Patrick has been relegated to sitting and doing nothing, and waiting until it's his turn.  
  
Nothing to do but stare out the window, _Oh good, more fucking trees. How fascinating,_ and listen to Graham hum the theme tune to '633 Squadron' _all the fucking time_. Hah, Patrick wouldn't even be surprised if the little shit has got a professional qualification in _being an annoying cock_.  
  
Happily oblivious to Patrick's growing irritation, Graham keeps humming, louder and louder as he reaches the crescendo.  
  
Unable to take it any more, Patrick snorts. "You’re a _cock_." He says.  
  
Graham tilts his head. "I'm sorry, what did you say? I can't hear over the engines."  
  
"I said, you're a cock."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
Patrick smiles obsequiously and raises his voice. "Nothing!"  
  
Graham nods his head and gives Patrick an OK sign.  
  
 _What a cock._  
  
Ten more minutes pass in agonising boredom. Then, with nothing else to do but watch Graham fly, Patrick notices that _the fucking retard_ has forgotten to retract the wheels after take-off. They've been flying with them out for the past _half hour_.  
  
"Acre," says Patrick, "you've forgotten to retract the wheels."  
  
"Pardon?" shouts Graham.  
  
"I said," replies Patrick, "you've forgotten to retract the wheels!"  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
 _Oh God,_ Patrick's pretty sure he's going to burst a blood vessel before the day is up.  
  
"I said," starts Patrick, and then thinks, _Oh fuck it_. If you want something done, it's best to do it yourself.  
  
Patrick leans over to flick the switch for the wheels, but Graham bats his hand away.  
  
"What are you doing? I am busy navigating the skies."  
  
"Look," says Patrick, "I'm just trying to…" he reaches for the switch again and Graham bats him away a second time, so Patrick grabs Graham's wrist and uses his body weight to hold him still while he leans over to… Graham pushes him away, Patrick pushes back and they…  
  
The nose of the plane dips.  
  
 _Oh shit._

***  
  
The clearing is bright and warm with sunshine, even if the ambience is somewhat marred by the scattering of broken branches and bits of high-tensile carbon polymer.  
  
"This," says Patrick, "is all your fucking fault."  
  
Graham considers that. "Only a brave man can admit to weakness," he replies, and while Patrick is passing through the stages of taking this as an admission, then worrying that Graham is calling him a coward, and then declaring the entire concept behind Graham's words ridiculous, he finds the radio.  
  
It is their duty to report their misfortune to Howard Mason, who (although Graham would never think poorly of a superior officer) does sound like he is more amused by the situation than concerned. The plane, although not entirely destroyed, does require more repairs than can be performed by Graham and Patrick themselves, and so when the other students have returned one of the instructors will come out to assist them.  
  
Graham assures Howard that they will be fine, ignoring Patrick huffing in the background, and wonders if some beast of the wilderness will come forth to test their mettle as warriors.  
  
It's not actually very foreboding wilderness, so possibly not. Leaving Patrick to guard the plane, he wanders around the edge of the clearing, wondering if it's possible to forage for mushrooms or berries or something and wishing Billy was here.  
  
Billy would know what to do; maybe he'd be able to fix the plane, and he'd be someone who Graham could talk to, at least. After a few minutes contemplation, staring into the horizon, he decides that this is fate's way of reminding him of the importance of humility.  
  
The sky chooses that moment to get very dark, very fast.

***  
  
As soon as he feels the first few spots of rain, Patrick climbs back into the plane.  
  
 _Great_. Just what they need. As if this day isn't bad enough as it is.  
  
He sits, staring sullenly out of the window, as the rain gets faster and faster and…  
  
Suddenly, the door opens and Graham Acre, beaming like he's having the most fun in the world, jumps inside. Which would be fine. It's not like Patrick gives a fuck what Graham does. Except the problem is that Graham is _fucking drenched_ , so as he sits down, he sprays water everywhere, including all over Patrick.  
  
"Oh Jesus Christ!" says Patrick. "What the fuck. Acre, you've just… Shut the fucking door!"  
  
Graham does, then he pushes his sodden hair out of his eyes, spraying more water over the inside of the cockpit, and turns to Patrick.  
  
"The sky is testing our fortitude today!"  
  
Patrick wrinkles his nose. "Whatever." And watches as Graham peels off his sopping wet jacket.  
  
Underneath the jacket, it doesn't look like Graham's shirt has fared much better. That white cotton does get very… _Nipples. Nipples. Nipples…_ see-through when wet, doesn't it? Not that Patrick's looking. He folds his arms and stares pointedly out of the window until Graham's changed into some of their dry, emergency clothing.  
  
"Now," says Graham, "we must try hard not to let the inclement weather douse our spirits. We need to keep up morale!"  
  
Patrick stares at him. He hopes to fuck that Graham's not about to start humming again. "Look, Acre," he says, "you can keep up morale by yourself if you want, but don't expect me to do anything. I'm just going to sit here and wait until they come to pick us up, ok?"  
  
Graham thinks about it. "You are right," he says. "It is only in the solitude of a man's heart that he can truly find peace."  
  
"Yeah. Yeah," says Patrick, and goes back to staring out of the window.  
  
They sit in silence for a while after that, and it lasts long enough that Patrick is almost close to wishing that Graham would start humming again, just so he could have _something_ to listen to. Almost. But not quite. Patrick doesn't hate himself _that_ much just yet.  
  
Luckily Graham's stomach saves the day (and Patrick's ears) by choosing that moment to make itself known.  
  
"Oh!" says Graham. "We need to keep up our strength! We should break open the emergency rations!"  
  
As much as Patrick would like to disagree, just to be contrary, he's actually feeling pretty hungry himself. So he goes to reach the ration box, which is stored behind his seat, but before he can even move, Graham, who has idiotically decided to get the ration box himself, virtually climbs across Patrick's lap to reach it.  
  
"Oi!" shouts Patrick. "Acre, you're in my..!" An elbow only just misses Patrick's nose. "Get off, would you? I can… ow! …reach it my… _ah_."  
  
Patrick stops moving suddenly, because, amidst the shuffling, Graham's knee has managed to find its way between Patrick's thighs and… _Oh God_.  
  
"Acre," says Patrick carefully, "Acre, I think you want to move your… _oh…_ "  
  
Graham ignores him entirely. "Be patient," he says, "the emergency rations are almost within my grasp."  
  
"That's…" Patrick gasps as Graham moves closer, and tries desperately to hold still as a warm chest is pushed into his face. "That's not what I mean, Acre… I… Oh! _Oh…_ Left a bit..."  
  
"I almost have it," says Graham, stretching further.  
  
"Yes…" says Patrick. "That's it…"  
  
"Almost there."  
  
"Yes. Oh. Oh. Yes."  
  
"Almost…"  
  
" _Yes._ Almost. Almost…" Patrick bites his lip. "Oh God. Acre, you… hnnn… _Almost…_ "  
  
"Got it!" Graham lifts the ration box, grinning triumphantly, and promptly climbs back into his own seat.  
  
"Wait!" cries Patrick, disappointment flushing his cheeks. "You can't… What are you…?"  
  
But Graham is too busy nosing around in the box to notice. "Look! They have provided us with vitamin drinks and protein bars!"  
  
"Oh _fuck_ …" Patrick stares at him. "You weren't even…? _Fuck._ "  
  
Graham looks back up. "Are you ok, teammate?"  
  
Patrick jumps and scrabbles for the door. "Yes!" he cries. "Absolutely fine! I just have to... have to… I have to go and…!" He fumbles the door open, climbs outside. "…I'll be back in a bit!" And runs into the undergrowth as fast as he can.

***  
  
To be honest, Howard could have sent someone out to get the kiddos straight away, but he thought it might be character-building to let them stew for a bit. That, and it makes things a bit quieter around the place. They're not in any danger and it'll teach them to be a little more careful next time.  
  
Hopefully, at least.  
  
Eventually, the 'rescue party' returns with a penitent Graham and an extremely sullen Patrick. In between Graham's promises of better self-restraint and Patrick's complaints about being stuck with 'that idiot', they do manage to get enough info to fill out the incident report so that everyone can go home.  
  
In the official notes, Howard writes that he doesn't feel the two of them are compatible co-pilots. He doesn't add _due to too much sexual tension making them crash my planes_ , but what does anybody expect from a couple of teenagers?  
  
Hopefully they'll mellow with age; at least, Howard can't imagine how the two of them could possibly get any weirder.[](http://statcounter.com/)


End file.
